Sometimes the Best that We Can Do is to Start Over
by Kamiki77
Summary: Bucky's recovery isn't going well. With increased violence outbursts and a debilitating case of PTSD, the Avengers must use a drastic measure to save Bucky's fate.
1. His Choice

Steve Rogers paced in Tony Stark's laboratory, his jaw swollen and lip cut and bleeding from a recent punch. A purple-black bruise was quickly spreading over his right cheekbone, and he could tell it was probably broken in several places. The sharp intake of pain when he breathed indicated that he had a least a few broken ribs, and his thigh pulsed from where he had been kicked repeatedly by a heavy, steel-toed boot. Despite all this, his heart hurt the most.

"I can't stand to look at him like this," he said, his jaw set and a stern frown on his principled face.

Strapped to a chair, Bucky Barnes was straining against his restraints, the reenforced leather creaking under the whirr of his metal arm. Sweat beaded down his face, his teeth grinding as he struggled. His eyes were cold, set on Steve.

Tony Stark and Bruce Banner exchanged glances to each other. "You know what we have to do," Tony started. Bruce looked away, not wanting to see the look in Steve's eyes. This whole situation was hitting close to home for him.

"No," Steve said firmly, pointing his finger accusingly at the well dressed man who both infuriated him and yet he felt some kind of involuntary friendship with. "I'm not going to do that to him. Not again."

"It's been three months," Bruce said quietly, glancing to Tony for reassurance. It was hard for him to talk about, knowing that he had his own demons. "Its getting worse. He's remembering everything, Steve. Not just who he is, but everything they did to him..."

Steve's jaw clenched, and he felt a lump rise in his throat. He knew, too. He had seen the files Natasha had furnished him, and even he knew that just scratched the surface of was 'official' in the HYDRA files. He could read between the lines, and he could hear Bucky cry out in his sleep. He saw the look in Bucky's eyes when Alexander Pierce's name was dropped, and the internal turmoil of guilt, shame, and fear that raged inside him. Steve wanted to punch something just thinking about it. It wasn't fair - no one should go through the horrors he had seen. 70 years of torture, abuse, beating... assaults.

"Where am I?"

The three men looked in turn to the man strapped to the examination chair now. Bucky's expression had gone from blind cold rage to the panicked sorrow. He flexed against his restraints and confused tears began to fall from his eyes. "What are you doing to me?" he choked out, looking between them all. "Steve? Steve is that you? What are they doing to me! Help me!"

Steve covered his mouth his hand, taking every ounce of his restraint to hold himself together. "Bucky," he finally said after a moment, taking a few steps towards him. "Hey, Buck." He dropped to his haunches, putting himself in a position to look up into his terrified face. "Just a few more minutes and we'll let you outta here, okay?"

"Help me..." he whimpered, his head dropping down and openly sobbing.

Steve had to blink back tears of his own before he stood up and faced the two scientists again. "You can control it," he said pointedly to Bruce. "You can help him." "I wasn't tor-" Bruce stopped, looking nervously over at Bucky who had gone quiet, his head slumped against his chest, his face obscured by his long brown hair. "I didn't go through what he did." "He belongs in the Fridge," a cool voice said from behind. The three men turned to see Maria Hill standing at the doorway to the lab, her hands resting firmly on her jutted hips.

Steve started towards her, stilled only when Tony cooly reached out and took him by the arm. "You're crazy if you think I'm going to allow that," he spat.

"Rogers, you're too close to this. What are we supposed to do with him? No mental institution can hold him. We can't remove his arm - which is a dangerous weapon - and we can't even sedate him because of his healing ability. We're out of options, we can't just have you babysit him 24/7 until he beats the crap out of you."

Steve opened his mouth to refute Maria's claim that he couldn't take care of him, but Tony interjected. "We do have one option." "No," Steve said quickly, jerking his gaze to him.

"What is it?" Maria asked.

Tony gave the cue to Bruce. "We were able to reverse engineer some of the equipment HYDRA used for his conditioning. I think we could use it to...reset him, so to speak. They used a mix of electroshock therapy and the serum derivatives to almost, well, selectively wipe his memory and personality centers of his brain."

He paused to look around the room. Steve had turned his back to the conversation already, and was attending to Bucky. He gently wiped his chin where he had drooled some in his panic, and tendering brushed the hair away from his face. Tony and Maria were continuing to look expectantly at Dr. Banner.

"There's a chance, with a larger electrical shock and therapy we could effectively wipe all his memories after a certain point - when Zola got his claws in him. It would be, risky, to say the least." "What kind of risky?" Maria asked sharply.

"Well, for one we'd lose all chances of getting any Hydra intel from him. But, ultimately, we zap him too hard and he'll be a vegetable. If it doesn't kill him outright."

There was a heavy silence in the air except for a worried utterance from Bucky, who sounded much more like a child than a grown man at this point. "What are they talking about, Steve?"

"I'll talk to Coulson," Maria said tersely, and turned to leave.

"It's not Coulson's choice!" Steve barked after her, his rage building.

"Sorry, Cap. But SHIELD disagrees."


	2. 30

"I don't know if I can do this."

Bucky was hovering in the doorway to the laboratory, his stomach twisting into a tangled mess of knots inside his body. Steve was beside him, but the laboratory was shooting up his anxiety levels to dangerous heights. His arm seemed to flex and recalibrate on its own accord, causing Tony and Bruce to exchange nervous glances. Tony's suit was on standby, but Steve had made him promise not to put it on unless things got bad.

Of course, if things got bad, it would probably be Bruce they had to really worry about.

Steve headed into the room first, giving Bucky as reassuring squeeze of his shoulder as he went by him. He stood next to the chair and felt his own apprehension rising. Though it had been heavily upgraded and enhanced by Tony, the chair was still eerily familiar from the photos he had seen in the Winter Soldier dossier. Ugly and angular, with straps and tubes and lots of scary electronics that still looked nothing but alien to the old fashioned Captain. He would be terrified to have to sit in that kind of contraption, and he didn't even have all the emotional scarring that Bucky did.

Bucky wanted to run. Something deep in his brain was telling him this was a bad idea, that danger was close. Survival mode was fogging his mind like an invisible gas; his heart rate increasing and sweat rolling down the side of his face. The muscles in his shins twitched; every fight or flight instinct in his soul urging him to bolt to survive and another day.

He didn't want to go back. Not into that chair. That chair meant pain and cold and a thousand other horrible things that made him want to throw up.

It wasn't fair. He wanted to get better. Not this. Not whatever this hell his life had become. Because of the experimentation, Bucky's brain was healing without the constant "wipes" from his handlers at HYDRA. Healing was a such a deceptive word, however. As his brain repaired itself, the memories that were once lost to him were creeping back into his consciousness. They came in clips, like puzzle pieces falling into place. And they were horrible things: things no one should be forced to remember.

He remembered the crack a neck made when it was broken by his hands. The gurgle of a crushed trachea under his metallic fist. The splatter of blood across an office building wall as viewed through the scope of a long-range sniper rifle.

Intense training. Brutal training. Sparring with real blades and real clubs and not being allowed to eat or sleep for days on end. Kicks to the jaw for speaking out of turn. Carvings into the flesh for failing an important skill assessment.

Horrible, degrading acts at the vile hands of his handlers. Their fists tangled into his hair, pulling, pushing. Gagging and swallowing and swollen, bleeding skin. Post-coital cigarette burns into his back. Deceptively tender strokes along his face and the inability to even show his shame or displeasure without the threat of severe punishment.

Those were what were coming back to Bucky as his brain 'healed' and he couldn't handle it. Some days were okay. But more often than anyone was comfortable with, he would break again. He wasn't sure if it was a short circuit or a coping mechanism or just plain PTSD, but something would happen and it would all go to shit. Somebody would say something, or something on the T.V. would show something, or just a smell or a sound or a sight would trigger something in him and he wasn't Bucky Barnes anymore.

He was back to being the Soldier. He was back to his missions. Which mission? He rarely knew. But if there was someone in his way, they had to die. He had put three SHIELD operatives into the ICU, and more than once ended up back into a brawl with about the only person who could go toe-to-toe with him: Steve Rogers. Sometimes the episodes lasted only a few seconds. Sometimes he ended up in a holding cell for days.

Bruce and Tony had run every brain scan and test they knew to do. There was simply no precedent for what had been done to him. Drugs and sedatives did little to control the situation; his body would filter out any foreign chemical in his brain before it did any good. Tony had even gotten him high on marijuana once (much to Steve's distress) which seemed to help for a few hours at best, but even then sometimes the paranoia would kick in and things would get even worse.

Bucky was lucky Captain America was respected as much as he was around SHIELD. Coulson especially was giving him more leeway than anyone else in his position would probably be allowed. But it was time for drastic measures. Coulson had given him an ultimatum: the treatment or the Fridge.

Bucky had 'chosen' the treatment, because the Fridge wasn't an option. He would put a bullet in head first, not that he dared let Steve in on the fact that that was an option he had already considered many times over. It was probably a good thing he had no access to a gun in the Avengers tower, else he may have already done so.

But here and now, staring at that monstrous chair, he didn't know if he would be able to handle this. He saw Tony sigh and check his watch. Bruce smelled of anxiety. They both were watching him like a hawk, eyes flickering over to Steve impatiently. But Steve wasn't going to rush him, or force him. Steve wanted him to come into the chair on his own, even if it took all damn day.

He finally took a step closer, and Steve smiled at him. It was a forced smile; he could tell. Steve couldn't hide anything from him, much less the pained nervousness playing out on his features. The short series of steps over to the machine seemed like a lifetime. His steps were heavy and controlled, trying not to show any outward signs of the turmoil swirling around in his head. Finally, he was there and he carefully sat into the worn leather seat.

A wave of nausea rose in his throat as he settled into the chair. He knew what was coming, and if it was anywhere near like it had been before he didn't figure it would be any better. "What did you say the chances are I make it out of this alive?"

All the men in the room looked at each other, each daring the other to speak first. "About 60%. We think," Bruce finally said. It wasn't much more than a guess. They had no real way of knowing for sure.

Bucky was quiet, his head nodding almost imperceivably. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was cotton. "And the chances that I'll actually, you know, be functional?"

Another long pause and Dr. Banner silently wished someone else would save him from having to say it. He sighed. "About 30%."

Steve shook his head, crossing his arms across his chest and his jaw working under his flawless skin. He was on the verge of tears himself and he could barely even try to comprehend what Bucky must be going through.

"Okay," Bucky said flatly, leaning back into the chair. It was now or never. He licked his lips and let his eyes finally raise up to meet Steves'. It was like a moment frozen in time as they stared at each other. Both of them knowing this was the only option, but neither of them wanting to accept this could very well be the last time they ever saw one another.

"Hopefully the end of the line isn't as close as it feels," Bucky said, trying to pitch it off as a joke but his voice catching just enough to betray his fear.

Steve looked as though someone had punched him in the gut. He stepped closer to Bucky and pulled up a chair. "Don't say that," he said seriously, keeping his eye contact. "I'm going to see you real soon. We'll go out on the town," he said, forcing that pained, puppy dog smile of his.

_You're always late for your dates_, Bucky thought bitterly, recounting the times Steve had told him about the 'date' he missed with Peggy. Was his fate doomed to be the same? Would he either die or end up on ice again... indefinitely?

"Are we ready?" Bruce asked hesitantly once the silence that had settled into the room got uncomfortable.

Steve looked to Bucky. He wasn't going to let anyone touch him until he consented.

Bucky forced himself to take a deep breath. "Yeah," he grunted, sounding weakly convincing at best.

Bruce nodded and Tony and he moved over to the chair and began the process of setting up. There were IVs to insert, and electrodes to adhere. The whole time Bucky found himself unable to look away from Steve, who was hovering around nervously. If he was going to die today, Steve was the last thing he wanted to see. Not blood. Not weapons. Not Pierce.

Steve.

It was time. Like he had done countless times before, he opened his jaw and let Bruce insert the rubber mouthguard. Steve came over and took his right hand, giving it a support squeeze before Tony adjusted the table to lay Bucky on his back. "It's time," he said, giving a serious look to Steve.  
Steve reluctantly stepped away, his own nausea rising. It wasn't easy to make Captain America feel sick, but knowing this could be the last time he saw his best friend was the fastest way to do it.

Bruce took a deep breath and began the procedure. It started with a series of injections, before the electricity came on. This was the truly horrifying part; the electronic buzz was so strong even Tony, Bruce, and Steve could feel the hairs on their arms stand up on edge. But the clincher were the screams. Bucky screamed and screamed around his mouthguard, his eyes bulging and muscles contracting as unknown voltage raced through his brain. It was almost too much for Steve to handle.

It seemed like an eternity before Bucky fell silent; unconscious. Steve wiped his face, a mix of tears and sweat making his skin glisten. But even after the screams stopped, Bruce and Tony continued to check monitors and administer different drugs. They were steel-focused on their task, and Steve didn't dare interrupt them lest he cause them to mess up an important calculation.

After what felt like hours, Bruce walked over to Steve. "That's it," he said quietly. "Now we just wait to see if - " the flash in Steve's eyes caused Bruce to reconsider his words, "when he wakes up."

Steve walked over to his friend, who at the very least seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He put his hand on his head - red hot and covered with sweat - and gently wiped the hair out from his closed eyes. "What's going to stop the same thing from happening again?" he finally asked, not taking his eyes off Bucky. "His brain healing and remembering everything." "Well, we don't, really," Tony said. His voice may have sounded callous but he clapped Steve on the shoulder to show his support.

"But the idea," Bruce continued, knowing more of the medical side of things, "Is that we also administered a modified version of your super soldier serum. Hopefully, his brain fully heals before he wakes up." "It's like we're locking away the memories in scar tissue," Tony said. "But nothings certain, Cap. You look like hell, you should try to get some sleep. He'll be asleep for at least eighteen hours."

If only that were true.


	3. Orphans of the Sky

Steve nodded to the SHIELD agent assigned to watch over Bucky's room, indicating he was relieved from his duty. The low ranking operative nodded back and headed off as Steve let himself into the room and sighed. Today marked two weeks since the procedure. Fourteen days.

It felt more like fourteen years.

His chair was waiting for him. He had been by to visit Bucky every day, and had long given up on sliding the uncomfortable chair back into the corner. No one else was coming. He sat down, and pulled out the book he had tucked under his arm. It was an old, battered copy of "Orphans of the Sky," by Robert Heinlein. He flipped to the page he had ended with yesterday, and began to read.

Several chapters later, he closed the book with a sigh and set it on the table. He folded his hands under his chin, and rested his elbows on the stiff hospital bed where Bucky lay. He looked peaceful, which was a tiny comfort to Steve considering how difficult things had been after his reclamation by SHIELD.

Why did he keep ended up here? Watching over the sleeping, weak bodies of those he cared the most about.

Thirteen months ago, he had been reading and watching over Peggy like this. Watching her frail body slip away; surrounding by children and grandchildren; all who were thankfully accommodating to having her old boyfriend hover around. She passed quietly in her sleep, and Steve couldn't help but regret that they never once got the chance to have that dance.

Perhaps that was the curse of being forever trapped in a young man's body. Despite the world having aged around him, Steve sometimes had to remind himself that even discounting the years he spent in the ice, he was barely over thirty. But he felt so much older. He had seen the world completely change; he had seen war and loss and betrayal to degrees most people would never have the opportunity to. He had loved, and lost, and died, and resurrected. And he showed no outward signs that his body was aging, at least not to the degree someone who had been through as much as he had.

He was usually thankful. He knew he was truly unique among humanity; it allowed him to face down foes and protect the country. After all, if he hadn't come out of the ice, he would have never found Bucky again.

Bucky.

He looked over his face. The nursing team Pepper set up had been doing well to keep him clean shaven and bathed. He did truly look peaceful, and Steve dared think, almost happy. Steve had watched him as he slept before the procedure; even in sleep his eyes darted behind his closed lids, and he often cried or screamed or winced while he dreamed. Unspeakable nightmares that Steve could only guess at, as Bucky had refused to talk about them. But the words he would utter... it couldn't have been pleasant.

Steve found himself regretting all the things he didn't say when Bucky went into the chair. Perhaps it was simply machismo, or the awkwardness of having Tony and Bruce hovering around when they spoke to each other. But the reality that Steve might have said his last words to Bucky was killing him inside. He did the same thing with Peggy. Making a date he knew he couldn't keep instead of having to face the reality that he was about to die. He should have told her he loved her.

And now Bucky. Bucky who had looked after him when he was just a skinny, sick kid from Brooklyn. He could have been like all the other big kids - calling him a fairy and pushing him around. Their words sometimes hit harder than their fists, but regardless of the assaults, Bucky was there to look out for him. He never fully understood why. Bucky was popular and handsome and favored by all the ladies. The only thing he ever got for being Steve's friend was a few rude remarks about Steve being his 'girlfriend.' But regardless of his motivations, Steve was always so thankful.

Knowing Bucky would be there to back him up gave him the courage to keep fighting. Perhaps without Bucky there giving him confidence, he would have learned to run instead of fight back. His dogged stubbornness was infectious. It was Bucky's influence that gave Steve the will to apply for enlistment five times, as much as Bucky probably didn't want to take credit for that one.

Yes, he wanted to serve his country. But he also didn't want to be left alone. He didn't want to be left alone in Bucky's tiny one room apartment. He didn't want to have to fill his days wondering if Bucky was alive or dead as he fought a war Steve desperately wanted to join. He wanted to fight. For his country. For what was right. And he wanted to know Bucky was going to be there, back to back with him, making sure he came out of it ok.

Taking a deep breath, Steve reached over and took Bucky's right hand. It was warm, but rough with callouses from decades of weapon handling and injuries. "You're going to come back, right?" Steve found himself asking, his voice thick with emotion.

He squeezed his hand, closing his eyes and praying. He prayed over him everyday. He silently begged God to bring Bucky back to him; that Bucky deserved to be happy and to live a life free of the horrors he had seen.

Sometimes, Steve even prayed that if Bucky wasn't going to come back to him that God would at least take him. Take him peacefully and let him rest by His side and wait until the day he could see him again.

But this. This waiting. This purgatory. It was tearing him up.

"It will be worth it," Steve said to Bucky. Mentally, he figured the lug was just being stubborn. "It will be just like the old days. Tony's going to be holding another Stark Expo, soon. Wouldn't that be fun? I'll even set up the dates this time. There's this nice girl named Lillian. She has a lip-ring, but I figure maybe you'd be into that." He forced himself to smile.

"Or just the two of us. Whose gonna say anything? Right? I can see you now, just daring them to say something. Give to give you a reason to kick their ass in. Don't lie, Bucky, I know you liked getting in fights sometimes. I don't think it was me who liked getting punched." He knew it was stupid, but a part of him was still disappointed when Bucky didn't answer.

His smile faded, and he let go of his hand. He looked at the clock and tried to convince himself he wasn't needed elsewhere. "I'll see you tomorrow, buddy," he said, reluctantly as he rose. Before he left, he made sure the blanket was straight and his hair was out of his face. Just in case.


	4. Awake

It was like waking up from an impossibly deep, dreamless sleep. There was a sense of floating; a heavy, warm, contentment that felt so alien and yet so affirming at the same time. Time seemed suspended as he enjoyed the unfamiliar sensation of peace. His thoughts were cloudy and thick, full of everything and nothing at the same time.

Slowly, the steady sound of beeping made its way into his consciousness; in time with the dull thump on his heartbeat he felt throughout his body. He finally opened his eyes, staring up at a white hospital wall.

For a while, he just laid there, looking at the soft white ceiling. He felt strangely well rested, but so much so that it was like his body was heavy and didn't want to move. He lay content for a long while, but the fog was beginning to clear from his brain and memories began to creep around the corners of his mind.

Where was he? He swallowed, his mouth dry from sleeping with his chin slightly agape for an indeterminate amount of time. He made a motion to sit up, his underused muscles protesting as he did so. He sucked in air between his teeth as a hot poke in his arm caused him to wince. He had an IV in his right arm and several electrode looking things stuck to his chest with medical tape. His left arm felt heavy and numb.

His heart rate picked up speed, making the EKG increase pace in time. His eyes darted around the room, trying to still the panic rising in his chest. It looked alien to him; white and clean like some kind of a laboratory. The machines surrounding him were smooth and blinking with small bright lights and seemed to be missing any obvious cranks or buttons. Just smooth, rounded edges and a projector-like screen with virtual labels and menus.

Where was he? He had no idea. He tried to rack his brain - he needed to figure out the last thing he remembered. It was surprisingly hard to remember - like it was a million miles away. He had been traveling - deployed. London, yes. No, more than that. Out in the front lines... he remembered the sound of gunfire crackling around him and being thigh deep in mud and rain..

Was he captured? His stomach lurched. The last thing he remembered was doing a mission behind enemies in Italy.

He had to get out of here.

He reached up to remove the IV from his arm when he saw it. It wasn't his arm that reached, it was a horrifying metal prosthetic. Alarmed, his eyes going wide, Bucky screamed and recoiled. He jerked his hand back - and with the sound of an electric whirr the arm jerked backwards with unexpected strength, smashing straight through one of the electric screens. Bucky fell backwards off the bed, his IV ripping out of his arm and causing a few splatters of blood to fly over the stark white bloodsheets. The EKG began a high-pitched whine as his electrodes popped off under his t-shirt and the broken monitor sprayed an array of sparks.

On the floor, Bucky scrambled backwards until his back was against the wall, his right arm clutching at his left shoulder. He took a shuddering breath, his hands shaking, as he dared to look down. The metal monstrosity went over his shoulder, and he fingered the tight scarring around where it met the skin on his chest. The metal seemed to go under it, into his body, then fit over it like a true prosthetic would be.

Nausea rose in his throat as the door to the room burst open. A woman dressed in black military fatigues - her shirt said S.H.I.E.L.D. across the chest - came barreling in, a radio in hand. "He's awake, get Captain Rogers down here now."  
tight Rogers? Bucky blinked, starting slack-jawed at the woman, trying to determine if she was a threat. She spoke English at least, and didn't seem to have a European accent. "Where am I?" he barked, his right hand still clutching at the seam in his chest, pulling at the cold metal, hoping the blasted thing would come off.

"Sergeant Barnes," she said soothingly, putting her hands up, showing that she was unarmed. "Please calm down. You're at Avengers Tower in New York City. You're safe."

Bucky didn't know what the hell Avengers Towers was, the woman knew who he was and she spoke English and she didn't have an accent. "Calm down?" he sputtered, flabbergasted. Everything looked different. Shiner, brighter. Smooth lines and clean aesthetics . Even this woman, with her short honey blonde hair that was pulled back and her minimal make up and her futuristic looking radio she still clutched in her hand as she spoke rapidly into it.

"I know things probably don't make sense, but it will. My name is Agent Olsen. Captain - I mean, Steve Rogers will be here soon, if you could just come take a seat."

Even hearing his name made Bucky freeze. Steve was here? "Steve?" he asked, his voice soft and hopeful.

"Yes," she assured him, slipping the radio back her pocket. Bucky slowly let the woman help him back up onto the bed. She patiently tended to his wound were he had ripped out his IV, and turned off the maddening whine of the machines. Bucky mostly sat there, lost in his own head, catching only glimpses of people as they walked by outside his room. He could see them looking in, hovering. He could hear their muffled voices and questions behind the door.

"How did I get here?" he finally asked absently, his eyes still trained on the door.  
Agent Olsen looked uneasy. "You really ought to wait until Rogers gets here," she said diplomatically.  
"Please," he begged, touching her arm with his human hand and making eye contact. Bucky had puppy dog eyes and an incredible pouting mouth that made it hard to lie to. He could see the emotion in the woman's eye, but she simply shook her head. "No one is supposed debrief you until Rogers comes. " He frowned, but something in his heart fluttered. He was going to see Steve, he thought to himself. That became a mantra he used to keep himself calm as he waited for what seemed like hours.

When the door opened again, Bucky felt his heart jump into his throat. But where he was expecting Steve Rogers - his tiny five and a third foot blonde artist best friend - came an entourage of more strangers. A shorter balding man in a well-fitted suit and an irresistibly charming smile. A woman dressed similarly to Agent Olsen, but with a well-equipped gun holster and a severe expression. And a tall, broad-shouldered blonde Adonis with piercing blue eyes.

Wait.

Those eyes.

Those lips.

The cheekbones.

Bucky felt all the blood drain from his face. "Steve?"


	5. SHIELD

It couldn't be.

Bucky's mind was racing - still feeling slow from the odd slumber he had been in - as he looked over the man who wore Steve's face. How could that be? A long lost brother? A clone? His mind raced with questions but he could do little but sit there, slack jawed.

The man smiled, and Bucky made a near imperceivable noise. That expression was seared into his soul, he knew it well. It was the face Steve always made when he was sad but putting on a brave face. He saw it every time Bucky had saved his ass from a beating, every time he declined a double date because he couldn't afford to go out, every time Bucky begged him to come live with him after his parents were gone...

"Heya, Bucky." Good Lord, he had his voice. "Steve?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think better of it. He was going to sound like a crazy person, assuming this 6'4" statuesque man before him was his Steve Rogers.

"Yeah, it's me." The man smiled and pulled the chair over to the bed Bucky was sitting on, putting them on slightly more equal footing.

Everyone else seemed to fade away and he focused solely on the man who said he was Steve. "How...?"

"It's a long story," he said, clapping his hand gently on Bucky's knee. "But its me."

Suddenly, everything was far away; the war, how he got here, why everything seemed so smooth and alien. All that mattered was that Steve was here, and why he looked like The David in a button up shirt. "How...I mean... Steve, my God...look at you?" His eyes journeys over the body of his best friend. Someone who, at least as far as he remembered, was a nearly impossibly skinny boy, with legs and arms like sticks and a rattle to his breath. Most people assumed the 20 year old man was still in high school, and because of that, hardly anyone would ever take him seriously. His babyface with those perfect pouty lips and stunningly clear blue eyes didn't help matters much. But this... this man was perfect by all outwards accounts. Bucky swallowed; he was so used to keeping his...appreciation...of the male form hidden to everyone. But surely, no one could deny that this man had a figure that would make anyone stumble over their words. His shoulders were broad, and the fabric on the shirt of his arms stretched perfectly over muscles - not tight enough to bulge but tight enough to know they were perfectly sculpted. His waist was narrow, his thighs defined and portioned just perfectly under his khaki pants. He couldn't be his Steve - even if Steve had somehow gotten miraculously cured of all his ills this man had to be well over six feet tall.

"Sergeant Barnes," the other man spoke. He was shorter, but had intelligent eyes and a disarming smile. "My name is Phil Coulson. I'm the director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division." "Wha?" Bucky wasn't prepared to listen to this man. He was still focused on this man who wore Steve's face. He reluctantly pulled his eyes from Steve to look over, blinking.

"SHIELD." Somewhere in Bucky's foggy mind, he remembered SHIELD was the acronym plastered over all the agents in blacks' uniforms.

"What am I doing here? What happened to Steve? Why is my arm..." Steve put a hand on Bucky's right shoulder and he shut up immediately. His heart was pounding in his chest and the anxiety form the confusion was rising in his throat. "Sergeant Barnes," Coulson started again. He didn't sound annoyed, far from it. His voice was comforting and patient. "You'll be fully debriefed, but there were some...complications resulting in your captivity as a POW during WWII." "POW?" Bucky felt the blood drain form his face. He had been captured behind enemy lines then. "Did we win?" he gulped out, hoping the answer was yes considering.

"We won," Coulson said with a nod. "Thanks to soldiers like yourself and Captain Rogers. But there were casualties."  
"Captain?" What? Steve couldn't have enlisted into the army... and be a Captain? His eyes darted back over to Steve, who was sitting and listening patiently, his crystal blue eyes never leaving Bucky's face and his sad, serious, comforting half-smile plastered to his face.  
Coulson continued. "You were captured by HYDRA. Do you remember them?" Bucky swallowed, and tried to think. "They were part of the Nazi science division. We were supposed to infiltrate one of their bases..."

"That's right," Coulson said. His voice was so even, so full of patience and compassion and professionalism. "You were assumed dead, but they brought you back. Gave you that arm. Unfortunately, there were some side effects." Bucky's face burned. Of course there were side effects. He had a fucking metal arm.

"Unfortunately, we had to deliver a procedure that wiped some of your memory. What is the last thing you remember?" Bucky swallowed, his mouth tugging into a line. "Being in Italy. In the 107th." No one seemed surprised, but Coulson, Steve, and the woman exchanged glances.

"That's good," Coulson said. "But there there is a lot you're going to have to get used to. Some considerable time has passed since then." Bucky's eyes darted back over to Steve. No kiddin. He looked back to Coulson, silently pleading for more of an explanation. How long was he gone? Months? Years? "How much time?" "Its 2014," he said after drawing a breath.

Bucky felt like had he just been plunged into a vat of ice water. That couldn't possibly be right. He wouldn't be alive, much less still have the body of a young man. "No," he said, as if he simply refused to believe it.  
"It's true, Buck," Steve said, squeezing his right shoulder. "You were asleep for a lot of it. Just like me." "Asleep? Like you?" No, it was too much information and once and Bucky felt a bit nauseous.

"It's a long story," Steve said. "Very long," Coulson agreed. "But I'll let the Captain fill in the gaps. I just wanted to personally welcome you to SHIELD. We'll be monitoring you very closing, to make sure the procedure has gone as planned. Please, your cooperation is appreciated." Bucky snorted, how dare he assumed he would consent. He didn't know these people, or where he was. Though...if this was really Steve, then he had no other choice. If Steve trusted him, he would trust them. But the number of questions running through his addled mind was distracting. "What do I have to do?" he asked weakly. "Just rest, for now." Coulson held out his hand for a handshake. "We'll run some tests once you're feeling more up for it." Bucky weakly reached over with his human, right hand and shook, looking over to Steve who seemed to approve. "Okay," he said flatly.

"Nice to meet you, Barnes. Again." He smiled and Bucky felt instantly calmed though he didn't know why. Coulson turned his attention to the man wearing Steve's face. "He's all yours, Captain."

He motioned, and everyone seemed to follow him out, save Steve.


	6. Reset

"I bet you have a lot of questions." Steve said, once they were alone.

That was the understatement of the century.

Bucky blinked and looked to him, his eyes flowing from the top of his head to his feet. "Steve, what happened? You look so..."

Perfect?

Handsome?

Gorgeous?

Different?

Unreal?

He didn't know which to say, or if all of them tried to stumble out of his mouth at once; causing him to just half stutter and give up.

The Steve impersonator took a long breath. "I didn't tell you, but they accepted my enlistment that night at the Stark Expo."

Bucky blinked.

The memories where hazy and far away,but he remembered that night quite well. He had it all set up - double dates and all. He wanted to spend the whole night with Steve, the night before he was being deployed to London. He wanted his last night to be filled with drinking and dance and watching Steve try to have a good time. Instead, he had spent the whole night staring at the door to the dance hall waiting on his friend that never showed.

He always assumed he had gone home depressed when he was rejected again. There was no way he could have been enlisted.

And why didn't he tell him? Well, of course he knew why. Bucky would have shit a brick.

"How?" He was keeping his questions simple for now. Trusting this would all make sense. It was the only way he was going to process all this. One thing at a time.

Steve's lop-sided grin was back. "I was recruited by a scientist. Part of SSR - Strategic Scientific Reserve."

Bucky shook his head. "I've heard of them. Stark was a consultant. I thought they built weapons or something?"

It wasn't coming together yet, though Bucky's mind was doing its best to cut through the fog and make sense of it all. Steve was smart, sure, but he wasn't exactly a scientist. Not the kind they usually wanted in the army. He was never very interested in engineering or nothin' like that.

"I guess. I didn't ask questions, I was just happy to join up."

Of course he was.

"They were trying to build a super-soldier. And, I suppose it worked."

Bucky suddenly felt his temperature rising - it was like no time had passed at all. He wasn't sitting in some strange hospital room in New York in the future; he was just Bucky Barnes, looking at his best friend who had just admitted to doing about the stupidest shit he could imagine. His posture straightened. "Wait, you were experimented on?"

Steve shrugged sheepishly. God, how he could look so different and so exactly like how he remembered at the same time. "I didn't ask many questions. I just wanted to serve my country."

Bucky's jaw clenched; had this not been ancient history he would have given him more of an earful. But there were more pressing matters at hand for the moment. "That was stupid," he still seethed, his teeth tight. Steve exhaled a small laugh, which caused his blue eyes to light up like christmas lights and make Bucky's stomach jump in his belly. All these memories that seemed so far away, but crystalizingly sharp like a knife. It had seemed like a hundred years since he had seen Steve smile like that, but he couldn't remember why.

"Yeah, probably," Steve conceded. "But it worked, kind of."

Bucky's eyebrows raised curiously.

"Well, Dr. Erksine was supposed to perfect the formula and make an army. I was just the guinea pig. But, unfortunately, he was murdered. Took the secrets with him to the grave."

A frown pulled at Bucky's mouth, but he kept listening.

Steve had a kind of nostalgic look in his eyes as he kept on, leaning back in the chair he had planted himself in. "Colonel Phillips didn't think I'd be much use on my own. You know, five minutes before I was just a skinny kid who barely survived - literally - basic training."

Bucky would have smiled at the mental image, if the picture in his mind of Steve's weak, sick body being worked over by the U.S. Army for their own ends didn't piss him off so much.

"Anyway, they stuck me in the USO and, well..." he couldn't help but smirk a bit as he asked, "Didya ever see the Captain America comics?"

Bucky seemed caught off by the sudden shift in the conversation. Captain America? Wait a second...he searched his memory that name. Someone in his platoon had one of those flimsy books; some clown in a red, white, and blue get up who punched Hitler in the face like it was that goddamned easy. "Wait, you mean the mascot guy? Selling the war bonds?"

Steve simply nodded, waiting for him to connect the dots.

It took a second, as Bucky's mind processed the sequitor, and the image of that clown on the back of the comics solidified in his mind.

The recognition in his face was visible, eyes jerking up to Steve as everything clicked into place. "No fucking way," he exclaimed, his jaw falling open.

Steve couldn't help but strike his best pose, "Every bond you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy's gun."

"I thought that guys was just some prettyboy actor..." he mumbled, the vertigo coming back.

"Well, well. I wasn't much more until I had to go save your sorry behind," he said, trying to bring some levity; and hide how severe that capture had actually been.

Bucky frowned deeply. "I was captured?"

There was a sad smile on Steve's face. "See, I don't hold the monopoly on stupid," he teased. "A good chunk of the 107th was trapped behind enemy lines. And I couldn't just sit back and let that happen."

Bucky went to rub his face with his hands, pulling back sharply as the cool, hard metal of his left hand touched his warm flesh. He had completely forgotten about that monstrosity for a few minutes, but now he was looking at it; staring at every metal glint and jagged angle. "Issat how I lost my arm?" he asked, his voice thick.

"No," Steve answered, truthfully. He really didn't want to go into details about what happened to him; that was kind of the whole point around this exercise. But at the same time, Steve Rogers was a horrible liar. Keeping things, especially important things, from his best friend was going to be hard. "There was an accident later. You, uh, were assumed dead. There was no way you should have been able to survive."

Bucky's face looked pale, his eyes flickering between Steve and the metal on his hand.

Steve himself felt a wave of guilt rise up in his chest. Every time he lingered too long on this - that horrible day on the train - he just felt sick to this stomach. He shouldn't have assumed Buck was dead. He should have gone to look for him - Hydra be damned. He should have known, just known somehow, that he had been experimented on; given the serum...something. If only he had found Bucky before...

"Steve?"

Bucky's worried query pulled Steve out of his own destructive thoughts. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "It still upsets me. I thought you were dead, Buck." Steve's voice was suddenly tight with emotion, and Bucky's own chest contracted.

"But I wasn't!" he insisted, trying to pull his buddy out of it.

"But I thought you were," he said, leveling his eyes on him seriously. "Hydra found you and that's why you have that arm."

Bucky felt sick, his stomach dropping to the floor. "Hydra?" He flexed his fingers, watching the metal in the arm shift and move to his command, as if it was a part of him.

"Look, Buck, I'm not going to lie to you. You went through some hard times. They did stuff to your brain, so, that's what brings us here."

Bucky didn't like where this was heading. His pulse increased, the arm activating with a dull humm as he flexed his muscles.

"I'm sorry, Bucky. But we had to kind of...reset you."

"Reset me?" Bucky's voice sounded angrier than he intended. But he did notice Steve visibly flinch at the emotion in his voice.

"Look, Bucky, we didn't do anything without asking you first," Steve insisted, putting up his hands in a pleading gesture. "But you were having a really rough go of things. War can do that to a man, sometimes, Buck. It's nothing to be ashamed of!"

Bucky's hands went into fists, fighting back tears of confusion and frustration. "Those fuckers," he seethed.

Steve certainly hoped Bucky was referring to Hydra and not the team responsible for his most recent procedure. "Hey," he said, tentatively putting a hand on his shoulder. "Its a second chance is all, Buck. Its a new life, and you can do whatever you want now."

Bucky's eyes looked up from his hands to meet Steve's steady gaze. Something deep in his chest seized up as he looked at him, and it was like the world faded away. It was just him and Steve in a room, Steve giving him that look he always did when Bucky pulled him out of a fight. It all hit him at once. He was tired, confused, angry, hurt...but despite it all, it was Steve who was there.

He tried to choke back the sob that hit him unexpectedly, but the feel of his metal on his mouth just seemed to exacerbate everything. His shoulders shuddered, and he was quickly falling apart. He felt Steve's hands - now steady and strong - reach out and take him by the shoulders and pull him close.

It felt weird - Steve's didn't feel at all like his old friend. His shoulders were broad and his chest was hard under his cheek. His grip was strong and steady but it was still unmistakably Steve. He could tell. Maybe it was the smell or the soothing coo in his voice. But Bucky buried his face in his shoulder and felt his arms wrapping around him as he let the emotional overload finally brim over.

Steve held him as Bucky cried, until exhaustion overtook him.


End file.
